Deceived Page 13

  “Or an amazing opportunity.”

  She lowered her hand from her forehead and scrutinized him. “Are you suggesting that . . . I mean, have you changed your opinion about this being a wild-goose chase?”

  “I never said that.”

  “I know. You were very discreet. But even I thought that at the beginning. You had to have had serious doubts too.”

  “I did—and still do—but I also have an open mind. Not all coincidences are random—and miracles do happen. Until we make a positive ID on that boy, I’m not writing off any possibility. So . . .” He gestured to the scrapbooks. “Where do we start?”

  Feeling more upbeat than she had since the day he’d taken her case, Kate pulled Kevin’s baby book toward her. The one she’d buried deepest in her closet. The one she’d been afraid to open for fear the glue on her carefully patched-together world would dissolve, leaving her as shattered as she’d been the day her son was declared dead.

  But somehow she had a feeling Connor wouldn’t let that happen. That he’d step in and hold her together if she started to fall apart.

  And while she might be more resilient than she’d once thought, she had to admit the notion of being held in those strong, capable arms was very, very appealing—no matter the burden of guilt that admission dumped on her shoulders.

  10

  Excellent.

  Greg Sanders and the little boy were back at the daycare center right on schedule Tuesday morning.

  Adjusting his binoculars, Connor watched their body language as they walked from the car to the entrance.

  Sanders was attentive to the boy. He took his hand as they crossed the busy parking lot, shortening his stride to match the youngster’s. He looked down when the boy tipped his head up to speak, giving the child his full attention. Once on the sidewalk in front of the center, he tousled the boy’s hair and put his arm around his shoulders, tugging him close as they walked.

  The boy appeared happy too, as he trotted along beside Sanders. His expression was animated, he gestured freely, he laughed often. And when the man bent down to hug him, he returned the embrace.

  The love between the two of them was almost palpable.

  As they entered the daycare center, Connor lowered his binoculars, frowned, and tapped a finger against the steering wheel. Cases involving children were never easy. Even when the outcome was positive, someone always got hurt. Often the child suffered most . . . especially if he or she became the pawn in a custody battle.

  That wasn’t the case here—but if by some chance this boy did turn out to be Kate’s son, his world was about to be disrupted. Again.

  Sanders reappeared, and Connor watched him as he returned to his truck.

  Interesting.

  The man’s demeanor had done a 180. The smile was gone, and his posture was more taut. As if he was worried.

  Had there been a problem during the drop-off—or might his anxiety be related to his encounter with a blonde-haired woman on a mall escalator? The one he’d been keeping tabs on over his shoulder as he’d hurried the little boy toward the parking garage a week ago Friday? Or appeared to be keeping tabs on. The evidence to support that conclusion was circumstantial at best, but his behavior that day had been consistent with someone running from a perceived threat.

  As Sanders climbed into his truck, Connor started the engine. Time to find out where the man worked.

  Forty minutes later, after tailing him to St. Charles County, Connor stopped half a block away as Sanders pulled into a subdivision in the early stages of construction. While he watched through his binoculars, the man replaced his baseball cap with a hard hat and joined a crew gathered around a house. Within minutes, he was wielding an electric saw.

  Mission accomplished.

  Connor put the van in gear and headed east, back toward St. Louis. The man’s profession fit the house he’d scoped out after Nikki gave him the address yesterday—a small ranch in a blue-collar area of South County.

  He checked the clock on the dash. Not even seven yet. Too soon to stop by Elaine’s and drop off the images of Kate’s son that were resting on the seat beside him—a key to their investigation. Elaine had an amazing eye, combining science, digital savvy, and art to produce better age-progression photos than any he’d seen in his years with the Secret Service, despite all the resources available to the agency. If her picture wasn’t a close match for the shots he’d taken of the little boy, he couldn’t, in good conscience, recommend that Kate continue to spend money on this investigation.

  And until he had Elaine’s work in hand, it didn’t make sense for him to continue to spend her money, either. Or even communicate with her. Aside from a courtesy call to confirm he’d dropped off the images, there was no professional reason to contact her again for several days.

  Probably a plus, since he’d almost crossed the line last night.

  He merged onto I-70 and turned up the air-conditioning, but the rising sun radiating through the front windshield wasn’t the reason he suddenly felt too warm. The credit for that went to his client.

  Flipping down his visor, he tried not to think about how much he’d relished the two hours he’d spent sitting beside her as she’d paged through her albums, sharing reminiscences about her son and a few about her husband, smiling one moment, close to tears the next. Giving him glimpses of a caring mother and a devoted wife with an infinite capacity to love. Of an admirable woman who’d lost and mourned and struggled, but who’d triumphed over her trials.

  Mostly, though, he tried not to think about how appealing she’d looked as she’d said good-bye—and how tempted he’d been to respond to the subtle yearning in the depths of her eyes. She might not realize it yet—or perhaps she was fighting the realization—but the electric sparks between them had been as powerful as the flashes of lightning zigzaging across the sky outside the sliding doors off her dining room.

  He’d come close—too close—to giving in, to leaning over to brush his lips across hers.

  Even more reason to stay away for a few days.

  So he’d call her this morning, tell her he’d be in touch once he heard back from Elaine—then get himself back under control and in 100 percent professional mode before they spoke again.

  He hoped.

  Greg’s eyes flew open, and he stared into the darkness. What had awakened him at—he squinted at the digital clock on his nightstand—three in the morning?

  He lay motionless, listening. The house was quiet save for the muted hum of the air conditioner. No suspicious noises intruded on the silence. Still . . . it wouldn’t hurt to look in on Todd.

  As he swung his legs to the floor, a muffled sound came from the direction of his son’s room. A sound he recognized all too well. One he’d heard almost nightly in the early days.

  The beginning of a nightmare.

  He rose and flipped on the bedside lamp, waiting a moment while his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. He’d thought they were past this. That once the bad dreams had subsided, then disappeared, they’d never reappear. And they hadn’t.

  Until two weeks ago.

  Now, thanks to a bizarre coincidence in a mall, Todd had regressed. The disturbing dreams were back—different in subject matter, but related—and fragments of memory were resurfacing. Nothing specific enough to raise concerns . . . yet. But who knew what else might get shaken loose?

  Hurrying down the hall, he swiped a bead of sweat off his temple as the thrashing sounds and muttered cries grew louder.

  As he reached the threshold of his son’s room, one clear word emerged from the otherwise unintelligible mumblings.

  Kevin.

  No!

  He fought for air, grabbing the door frame for support. Telling himself the name was just the product of a dream. That dreams fade quickly. That there was no danger. That Todd wouldn’t remember what he’d said once he woke up.

  So wake him up! Stop the dream!

  Prodding himself into action, he lurched toward the bed
and sank down on the edge.

  “Todd.” He grasped his son’s shoulders and gave a gentle shake. “Todd . . . come on, wake up, buddy. You’re just having a dream.”

  It took several tries, but finally Todd’s eyelids flickered open. “Dad?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  Todd rubbed his eyes. “I had that dream again.”

  Not what he’d wanted to hear.

  “What dream?”

  “You know. The one I had when Diane was here the day I was sick, with the lady at the mall. I told you about it.” He picked up his Cardinals bear and held it tight against his chest. “I kept trying to get to her, but people were pulling me back. And this time, there was water at the bottom of the escalator. Like a lake. Why would there be a lake in the mall? And how come I keep dreaming about that lady?”

  He wished he knew.

  “Hard to say, buddy.” He kept his tone casual. Unconcerned. “Our brains can do strange things while we sleep. But I’m sure you’ll stop having it soon.” If fate was kind.

  Not that it ever had been in the past.

  Todd yawned and stretched, his eyelids already growing heavy again. “Do we know anyone named Kevin?”

  Greg’s breath hitched. So much for assuming he wouldn’t remember what he’d said in the dream.

  “I don’t think so.” Greg swallowed as a sharp pain pierced his midsection. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. That name’s stuck in my mind.”

  Meaning he didn’t connect it with the woman on the escalator—yet.

  And Greg intended to keep it that way, if he could.

  “You know, I think one of the guys who worked at the hardware store back in Montana was named Kevin.”

  Todd squeezed his eyes half shut, then shook his head. “I don’t remember him.”

  “You were real little. But sometimes strange things stick in our brain, like you said.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” He yawned again and snuggled into his pillow. “Dad, do you think we could go to church some Sunday?”

  Where on earth had that come from?

  “We can talk about that later. You need to go back to sleep now.”

  “Diane said we could go with her if we want to.”

  One mystery explained, at least. Diane had been after him for weeks to attend services with her after he’d mentioned he’d once been a churchgoing man.

  Not going to happen—for him, anyway. Todd . . . maybe.

  “You have books about the Bible and Jesus.” It was the best he could do for now, even if it was less than Jen would have wanted. How could he do more when talking about God made him uncomfortable?

  “It’s not the same. She said they sing songs and have classes for kids and eat donuts afterward.”

  “We’ll talk about it another time, champ.” He tucked the sheet over his son and stood. “Right now we both need our sleep.”

  “Okay.” Todd’s eyelids drifted closed. “We’re gonna have cupcakes at daycare tomorrow. I hope I get a chocolate one.”

  Greg watched him for a few moments, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the sturdy arms holding the Cardinals bear, the placid features. This was all he’d ever wanted. His son, asleep in his bed, looking forward to tomorrow.

  With a sigh, he trekked back down the hall to his room, sat on the edge of the mattress, and dropped his head into his hands.

  What a night.

  Kevin.

  God.

  Nightmares about blonde women and water.

  Why couldn’t all of his problems go away and leave him in peace?

  Even Diane had become a burden. The very woman who’d given him hope that maybe, just maybe, he could start over. That it didn’t have to be him and Todd alone against the world. That there might be room in their life for someone else to love. But now that Kate Marshall had intruded, stirring up memories best left forgotten, having Diane around was dangerous.

  Having anyone around was dangerous.

  Wearily, he lay back on the pillow. Once they got past this crisis . . . once Todd’s memories ebbed back into the dark recesses of his mind where they belonged . . . he might be able to try again with Diane. But that could be way down the road, based on the stuff he’d read on the Net about children’s memories. And most women weren’t willing to hang around all that long. Especially someone like Diane, whose trust in men was already low, thanks to her jerk of a husband.

  He bunched the sheet in his fingers. If only he could explain things to her. Tell her he cared, and come up with a valid reason for the temporary separation.

  But creative thinking had never been his strong suit. He was a practical, hands-on, analyze-the-problem-and-fix-it kind of guy. Give him the right tools, he could work magic.

  Except this problem couldn’t be fixed with a hammer or screwdriver.

  Turning on his side, he reached over and flipped off the light. The room plunged into darkness—kind of like his life had of late.

  His stomach gurgled . . . just like it used to. The burning in his chest had returned too, the piece of leftover pizza he’d eaten as a bedtime snack coming back to haunt him. He’d thought he was past all this too.

  Yet the nightmare was starting again—the waking nightmare. The one where he battled against constant fear, wondering if this was the day he would lose his son. The one he’d finally wrestled into submission and overcome.

  Still gripping the sheet, he tried to will the heartburn and indigestion away—but twenty minutes later he gave up and trudged to the bathroom. In the back of the medicine cabinet, he found the bottle of antacids. Almost full.

  Good thing.

  Because as he shook several into his palm, he had a feeling he was going to be using a lot of them.

  “This was a very productive session, Grace.” Kate knitted her fingers together on her desk and smiled at the fortysomething widow across from her. “I think you’ll be ready to begin applying for jobs next week, and I’m lining some up for you to consider.”

  Grace closed her notebook and picked up her purse. “It’s still hard for me to believe I have to get a job. I had no idea Sam had refinanced the house to fund those speculative investments, or that he’d let his life insurance lapse. He said if I handled the kids, he’d handle the money, and I trusted him, you know?”

  “Yes. I know. And you’re not alone. I hear that story a lot.” They’d been over this many times, but sometimes the women she saw needed a sympathetic ear as much as they needed career counseling. Kate circled her desk and joined the woman by the door. “Let me walk you out.”

  “You’ve been very kind.” Grace swiped at her eyes as they started down the hall. “I don’t know what I’d have done if my friend hadn’t recommended you.”

  “I’m glad I could help—but you’re a survivor. You’ll be fine.” How many times had she repeated that mantra to clients? Too many to count. But repetition helped drive it home, and self-confidence was critical in job interviews. “Nancy will set you up with an appointment for . . .” Kate’s voice trailed off as they reached the lobby and a tall man with dark eyes, dressed in a jacket and tie, rose.

  “Mr. Sullivan has been waiting to see you, Kate.” Nancy gestured to Connor from her seat behind the reception desk.

  “I’m sorry. Did we run over our time?” Grace touched Kate’s arm, drawing her attention.

  “No. We’re right on schedule. Nancy will get that appointment set up for you. I’ll see you next week.” She transferred her attention to her unexpected visitor. “Would you like to come back to my office?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “Nancy, would you get my calls for a few minutes?”

  “Sure.” The receptionist made no attempt to hide her appreciative perusal of Connor as he crossed the lobby.

  “This way.” Kate indicated the hall, and he fell in behind her as her spirits took a nosedive.

  There could only be one reason for this visit.

  He’d gotten the age-progressed photo back from Elaine
, and it wasn’t a close enough match to pursue.

  Why else would he come in person, except to break the bad news? If there was a match, he’d simply have called and told her, and they would have discussed next steps.

  Steeling herself, she gestured to the sitting area in her office.

  “I heard from Elaine.” He sat in the chair adjacent to hers and pulled a thin manila folder from his briefcase.

  “That’s what I figured.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “It’s not a match, is it?”

  Instead of replying, he handed her the folder.

  It felt flimsy in her unsteady hands. As flimsy as her whole story. As flimsy as the case this man had diligently worked on despite the long odds of success.

  Her hopes crashing, she took a steadying breath and opened the folder.

  The boy from the mall stared back at her, this time in a close-up head-and-shoulders shot.

  Frowning, she looked behind the image. It was the only one in the file.

  “I don’t understand . . . where’s Elaine’s photo?”

  “You’re looking at it.”

  As his words registered, her heart stumbled, and the air whooshed out of her lungs. Dear heaven, could it be . . . ?

  “I had the same reaction. That’s why I came over. I could have emailed it, but I wanted to be here when you saw it.” He pulled another file out of his briefcase and handed it to her as well. “That’s the boy from the mall.”

  She flipped open the second folder. Both the grainy close-up shot from the mall and one of the high-quality images Connor had taken of the child at the daycare center were inside.

  It was a remarkable match.

  “Did Elaine . . . did she see your pictures before she did hers?”

  “No. I’d never prejudice her in that way. This is her take on what your son looks like now based on the photos you supplied from his younger years.”

  “I can’t believe it.” The trembling in her fingers worsened, and as the images in her hands began to quiver, she lowered them to her lap. “I haven’t let myself even think about what might come next. This seemed too much to hope for. So . . . what do we do now?”